


Feel the Beat as I Kiss Your Forehead

by b0yfriendsinl0ve



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, Fluff, Implied Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson, M/M, Nick's only mentioned throughout, Party, Punk Louis, Shy Harry, it's just like 1 line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0yfriendsinl0ve/pseuds/b0yfriendsinl0ve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hates parties and maybe Louis isn't quite who people think he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel the Beat as I Kiss Your Forehead

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, just a quick-ish story, um, it's unbeated (feel free to point out any hideous mistakes) and i hope you enjoy it xx
> 
> Comments/kudos/bookmarks make my day :D
> 
> Title from 'I Do Not Hook Up' by Kelly Clarkson/Katy Perry

Harry hates parties. Actually, that’s not true. He loves getting drunk with his mates and having fun, it’s one of his favourite pastimes. But at this particular party he doesn’t really know anyone, and that sucks, because Harry’s not that social a guy. Again not true, he’s a people pleaser and they love him, but that’s back in his small home of Holmes Chapel with the people he’s known his entire life. He shares inside jokes with pretty much everyone in that little village and they’ve grown up together so those people are like a part of him. Holmes Chapel is a part of him. The same cannot be said for London. Don’t get him wrong, he’s wanted to move to London ever since he first went there with his family when he was six, but he’s just not used to it yet. It’s too busy and strange but mostly it’s too big. He’ll just have to grow into it. And the people aren’t horrible. In fact he could see himself befriending these people. Caroline’s sweet, and Olly’s a laugh and he already knows that one day they’ll mean a great deal to him. Just not yet.

So anyway, Harry hates this particular party. But it’s Nick’s party, so he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He owes a hell of a lot to Nick. And considering as Nick’s his flat-mate and the party’s at their place, he couldn’t really avoid it even if he wanted to – even though he wants to.

He lost Nick early on, despite him having promised not to abandon Harry. Honestly, he didn’t expect anything else, but he feels a little lost. Lost in his own flat. It’s just, he’s just finished school and he feels so young surrounded by Nick’s older, Uni friends. He’s never felt more like a child. Stood in the corner, alone, beer filled cup in hand, worrying about the morning clean up.

Harry decides that he’s made enough of an appearance and he’s perfectly within his right to at least try to go to sleep. Besides, if Nick really needs him he can come and get him. When Harry opens the door to his bedroom, the music toning down to a near inaudible level, there’s someone lying on his double bed. He flicks the light on. There’s a boy on his double bed. Said boy sits up, startled, and Harry’s eyes widen. There’s a cute boy on his double bed. There’s a cute boy _in his bed_.

“I’m sorry, is this your room?” the cute boy asks, suddenly.

The boy’s very pretty, Harry notes. Sharp cheekbones and styled hair. Slight stubble and a just notable curve to his stomach. Blue eyes swimming with amusement and surrounded by a layer of dark eyeliner. An eyebrow piercing shining in the light. There’s also silver sitting proudly in his thin lip and several climbing up his ear, large black gauges sitting in his earlobes. Smooth, tanned skin with dark lines cutting shapes into his collar bones, arms and knuckles. What seems like the most random selection of tattoos imaginable. Birds and stags and stick men. Pac man and noughts and crosses and _‘it is what is it’_ all visible because of the dark tank-top he’s wearing. Harry thinks he might have chosen it to purposely show off his tattoos. And his biceps. Wow. Jeans just as dark cling to his legs, rolled up just enough to show his ankles. Harry finds it all very beautiful. He’s _very_ pretty.

“Hello?” the boy’s sharp voice calls out to him again, and Harry realises he’s been staring.

“Oh, um, yes, it is,” he stutters in response, “but you don’t have to leave if you want to, y’know, stay.”

The boy stands on slightly shaky legs (and wow, ok, there are several empty cups on the bedside table, and Harry wonders just how drunk this boy is) “I don’t want to impose,” he says, but Harry senses a touch of sarcasm to his tone, and laughter in his eyes.

“I want you to stay,” Harry blurts, cheeks heating up at the blunt statement.

The boy, however, smirks, his eyes raking over Harry’s body, “Straight to the point, I see.”

Harry opens his mouth to apologise when suddenly thin lips and silver are stealing his breath. Harry’s mind goes from _cute boy kissing me_ to _I don’t know him_ to _holy hell is that a tongue piercing??_

While Harry was busy freaking out internally, the boy had dragged him over to the bed – his own bed – pushing him down and straddling his hips.

The boy’s lips move from Harry’s mouth to his neck, whispering against the tender skin, causing a shiver to run down Harry’s spine, “Well, come on, let’s get to it then.”

That wakes Harry’s common sense up and he gently pushes the boy away from the love bite he was carving into his neck, “What?” Harry asks, breathless even after just a couple minutes kissing.

The boy sits upright, causing some _unfair_ friction, and looks at Harry curiously, “You’re friends with Nick, aren’t you?”

And that was probably the last question Harry had been expecting, “Um, yes. So?”

He smiles triumphantly in reply, as if that answers all the questions he’s ever had, “So he’s told you about me and you want to try it out yourself,” he says smuggle, leaning down to press a kiss to the love bite on Harry’s jugular, “And I don’t blame you.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, crawling out from under the boy and gingerly climbing off the bed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know your name,” he adds sheepishly.

The boys eyes widen, his cheeks tinting just the faintest bit pink, “Oh.” Then a bright, slightly mischievous, smile takes over his face and he stick his hand out towards Harry, “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. And you are?”

Harry looks at the hand in front of him gingerly.

“Come on,” the boy, _Louis_ , continues, “you’ve had my tongue down your throat, shaking my hand can’t be that bad.”

Harry flushes a dark red and grabs his ( _wow, so small)_ hand, “M’Harry,” he mumbles.

Louis nods, “Ah yes, Grimmy’s new flatmate.” He finally drops Harry’s hand, practically throwing himself off of the bed, “So if you’re not here to fuck me, then why are you here?” he says, as he studies the items on Harry’s shelves and the few yet-to-be-unpacked boxes on the floor.

Harry feels extremely exposed, Louis essentially looking through his entire life, knick knacks he’s kept through the years. But he answers despite his discomfort, “Because this party’s overwhelming and I wanted to lie down for a bit.

Louis turns to him, raising an eyebrow, “Don’t let me stop you,” he replies, indicating the plush duvet and mismatched pillows.

Harry hesitates, before reminding himself that it’s _his_ bed and he makes his way over before collapsing into thee soft sheets. He’s on his front but his head is turned so that he can keep an eye on Louis. Purely because the boy’s going around his room. Not because of the messy fringe his hair’s styled into. And definitely not because of the way Louis’ arse fills out his jeans.

Harry starts talking before his brain can stop him, “Were you here… waiting for someone to. Fuck you?” _wow, Harry’s never said that before._

Louis turns to him, chuckling, “No,” he looks at Harry for a few seconds, before his gaze softens and he admits, “I just wanted to rest for a little bit.”

Harry jumps at the opportunity, “You can still rest if you want,” he says, hopeful.

Louis’ eyes bore into him as he decides, “Alright,” he nods as he jumps onto the space beside Harry, wriggling around until he’s on his back, eyes fluttering closed, “But no taking advantage of me, y’hear?” he mutters weakly. Harry doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if the question was rhetorical or not, but he thinks it’s a joke, so he says nothing.

He stares at Louis’ profile for a bit, eyes trailing over the shape off his nose and the colour of his lips before focusing on the silver ring encircling the bottom one.

“Did it hurt?” he asks.

Louis doesn’t open his eyes but he laughs lightly, “What, when I fell from heaven?”

Blushing, Harry clarifies, “No, your piercings.”

“What a stupid question,” Harry’s intrigue is replaced by embarrassment, as Louis goes on, eyes still firmly shut, “Obviously. Someone poking a hole in your skin. Sounds like it would hurt, doesn’t it?”

“’suppose,” Harry shrugs.

“Then that’s why it does,” Harry goes to speak again but Louis continues, “And before you ask, yes of course tattoos hurt a bit too. They all hurt but if you want them, then it’s worth a bit of pain and aftercare,” and Harry’s surprised at the wistful tone that Louis’ adopted. He sounds soft and sweet and Harry loves it.

“So how do you know Nick?” Harry asks, turning over onto his back.

Louis laughs, finally opening his eyes and looking at Harry, “Wow, great small talk there.”

Harry giggles, “Well, I didn’t know what else to say.”

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Louis says simply, eyes sharp.

Harry smiles, “But I wanted to.”

Louis looks at him strangely. As if Harry is a whole different species and he wants to figure him out. Harry wants him to figure him out.

“Uni radio,” he answers simply, “Our shows used to be just one after the other. Now it’s Grimmy weekday mornings, while I’m having my classes. Then I cover most of the afternoon, while he does whatever the hell he does. And then we have a show together in the evening. The listeners love us. Its pure dead brilliant.”

Harry hums his agreement, “You must me good friends then.”

“Oh no, I hate him. Not actually, obviously. But our friendship is pretty much just us taking the piss out of each other for three hours every weekday, and then getting drunk most weekends,” he gestures towards the door and the rager going on behind it, “Exhibit A.” Harry giggles again. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

“So,” Louis says, turning onto his side to face Harry, “how do you have the misfortune of knowing our Nicky? And living with him, blimey.”

“We met at a gig in Manchester,” he answers, feeling Louis’ eyes burning into his profile. He quite likes the feeling.

“And now you live with him?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘P’ outrageously.

“Your mum ever told you about stranger danger,” Louis jokes.

“Well we talked and stuff in between then and now, but. That’s the gist of it.”

“Boring,” He sighs.

After much deliberating, Harry turns onto his side as well, mirroring Louis’ position. They end up closer than he intended, but Louis doesn’t move away, so he doesn’t either, “What are you studying at Uni?”

Louis blushes, turning to hide his face in the burgundy duvet, and Harry breath catches, “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t,” Harry assures him.

“You will. No one expects someone like me to do what I do.” That peeks Harry’s curiosity.

“Please tell me?” Harry asks, slowly reaching out to hold Louis’ hand where it’s palm down on the bed between them.

“Ok,” Louis relents, “but only because you’re cute.” Harry blushes, giggling, before focusing all his attention on Louis, squeezing his hand to reassure him further, “I’m studying midwifery.”

Harry furrows his brows, confused, “What’s that?”

“It’s, y’know, a midwife? Pregnant women and babies and stuff,” Louis clarifies.

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise, and his heart blooms with fondness, “That’s amazing.”

Louis scoffs, “Yeah right.”

“No, it really is,” he reassures him, edging even closer to him, “That is so brilliant. Why did you wanna do that course?”

He knows it was the wrong question to ask when Louis’ eyes go cold. That fact’s confirmed when Louis collapses onto his back, pulling away from him, “Just wanted to,” he says dismissively, “What about you?” He rambles on, blatantly changing the subject, “What do you wanna do?”

Harry’s curious, of course, but he’s also considerate of people’s privacy. Besides, he’s known Louis for literally a matter of minutes, no matter how great the connection between them feels. “Music,” he answers after his internal ramble, “Cliché, right? Moving to the big city to make it as a singer, but. Well. It’s what I wanna do, so.”

Louis smiles at him, but doesn’t correct the statement, “You going to Uni in the autumn?”

Harry shakes his head, “Nah. I don’t know what I’m doing really. ‘m just gonna hang around London and see if anything happens. If not. It’s either Uni or back up to Cheshire.”

“Well we can’t have that. I’m already getting used to you being here,” he says, smiling fondly. And Harry blushes again. He’s pretty sure he’s been in a semi-permanent state of blushing, covering various shades of red and pink. And now Louis’ blushing too, and Harry thinks he’s fallen just a little bit in love. Which is why he needs to ask his next question:

“So what’s with the whole: trying-to-sleep-with-me, thing?”

A loud burst of laughter escapes Louis mouth before he covers it with his small palm, bicep and tattoos jumping with the quick action, “For the record I thought _you_ were trying to sleep with _me_.” Then his face falls and he sits up, “It’s just what I’m known to do,” he turns his head and gives Harry a once over, “And frankly, you’re way more attractive than the normal guys Grimmers throws my way.”

Harry would take the time to be flattered or embarrassed, but he’s still focusing on the previous statement, “What do you mean ‘known to do’?”

And suddenly Louis standing up, and Harry knows he said something wrong again, “Geeze, are you thick or something? I sleep with people. A lot. People come to me for sex. A lot. It’s what grownups do, and you’re obviously too young to know about that,” he says harshly.

Harry frowns, “Hey, I’m not a child.” Harry realises after he’s said it that he’s just pouted and whined, claiming not to be a child. Mature.

Louis’ obviously had a similar thought, “Well that certainly proves me wrong,” he chides.

“You’re not a prostitute are you?” Harry asks. And wow, where the hell did that come from?

If Louis was angry before, he’s livid now, “Shove off, of course not.”

A tense silence settles around them and Harry’s heart feels heavy. Which is really strange. He’s only just met Louis, and he’s not normally any good with strangers. But Harry doesn’t want Louis to leave. He wants to reach out and hold his hand and apologise and take him out to dinner. He does none of those things.

“’ve you ever slept with Nick?” is what slips out of his lips.

Surprisingly, Louis doesn’t storm out like Harry thought he would. He raises an eyebrow at him, smirking. Like he’s accepted the challenge Harry didn’t know he’d set. “Of course,” he says nonchalantly, “At least twice a year. We’re both shit at gift giving so that’s birthday presents sorted.”

 _Oh._ “Oh.”

“What, you jealous?”

The correct answer is yes. _Yesyesyes it hurts._ In fact, all this hurts a lot more than it really should. “Maybe.”

Louis stalks back over to him, crawling across the bed so he’s right in front of him, leaning so his lips meet Harry’s ear to whisper, “Of me or Nick?”

This time Harry scoffs, as if the question is completely preposterous, send Louis flying back upright, “He’s already tried sleeping with me, and I didn’t.” He sees something flit through Louis’ eyes that he quite likes, like Louis feels jealous as well. And Harry feels smug and in charge, but mainly he feels the need to reassure him, “I don’t feel that way towards him.”

“I’ve tried sleeping with you, too, though. And you didn’t,” Louis points out, monotonously. And Harry wants to think that Louis’ substituting sadness for emotionlessness. Just maybe.

“Yeah. Well,” he replies bluntly.

Louis looks down, façade falling, and looking suddenly a lot younger. A lot softer, despite the tattoos and silver he’s adorned with, “You seriously don’t want to have sex with me?”

Louis looks beautiful like this, open and unsure, sat cross-legged in front of him, and he can’t deny it, “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I do. But I want to take you out first,” he admits, looking down at his hands to avoid Louis’ eye line, “I’d pick you up and you’d have to choose where we’d go ‘cause I don’t really know where I’m going yet. And we’d get to know each other and you’d probably tell lots of jokes and I won’t be able to stop laughing,” Harry’s smiling now, imagining the date playing out in his mind, “Then we’d eat and I’d pay, then I’d take you home, and kiss you on your door step and wait for you to call me. And then we’d do that a couple more times, and maybe shag a bit later.”

Harry chances a glance up at Louis, and what he finds is completely breath-taking, Louis’ eyes are wide with shock and shining with admiration. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Louis’ mouth is parted slightly, and once Harry’s gaze falls on it, he can’t look away. From this vantage point he can see Louis start to speak before he even gets the words out, “Well that’s new,” he says, voice quiet and awed.

“What?” Harry asks, desperate, “Someone asking you out?”

“Someone caring.”

Harry reaches across to hold one of Louis’ hands between his own, “No one’s cared before?”

“Well, sure,” Louis nods, “But no one’s wanted to get to know me. Just my dick.”

The atmosphere around them cracks into pools of laughter, both of them stifling giggles into their palms, “Wow, just when I thought we were having a meaningful moment.”

Louis shrugs, “I don’t really do meaningful.”

“Why not?”

“Harry look at me,” he sighs, “Tattoos and piercings and, let’s face it, not the nicest personality. I’m pretty sure there’s only one thing people like about me. My blowjob skills.” Harry simultaneously chokes on his own spit at the thought of _Louis_ and _blowjobs_ , and feels like crying over Louis’ sad disposition.

Harry brings Louis hands up to his lips and presses a kiss to his tattooed knuckles, “I like you,” he whispers into his skin.

Louis brings his other hand up to Harry’s jaw, lifting Harry’s eye line to meet his own, “You’ve just met me.”

Harry nuzzled into the palm still holding his face, bring Louis’ other hand to his chest, “I heard that the impression you form of a person in the first few minutes you meet them is all you need to decide if you like ‘em or not,” he says matter-of-factly.

Louis laughs, “I’m pretty sure that’s for job interviews.”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugs, “I think it makes sense in other situations, too.”

Louis looks at him for a bit, eyes soft and smile small, “Yeah,” he whispers, “Me too.”

Harry beams, “Would you mind if we cuddled, for a bit?”

“Cuddle?” Louis asks incredulously, “What are you, five? I don’t even ‘cuddle’ people after sex, let alone when sober and fully clothed.” Harry does his best version of ‘puppy dog eyes’, hoping for the best “But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Mission accomplished, he think, as he falls back against the covers, pulling Louis with him.

They lay down, Harry’s head pooled on Louis’ chest, fingertips dusting over the ink on his collarbones. The beat of whatever top forty song Nick’s playing next vibrating deep in his bones and making him feel alive. It should be weird, being this intimate with someone new. But it’s nice. It’s really nice. And Harry feels like he’s floating. Drifting off to sleep in Louis’ arms.

“I’m gonna hold you to that, by the way,” Louis says softly.

“Hold me to what?” is Harry’s half-conscious reply.

Louis chuckles, kissing Harry on the forehead, “That whole date malarkey. Sounds like it could be interesting,” he muses, pressing his lips to Harry’s hairline once again.

If Harry falls asleep wrapped up in Louis’ arms with a smile on his face and music in his veins, then only Louis can see it. And if Louis watches Harry sleep for a while, soft fingertips tracing his jaw, then no one will ever know that.

When Nick taunts Louis the next morning – as he tries to leave wearing one of Harry’s oversized shirts – congratulating him on getting the ‘innocent Harry’ into bed, Louis may not correct him. It’s not, strictly speaking, _un_ true. And when Harry wakes up to an empty bed and a pink post-it-note on his forehead, ten digits and two kisses decorating it, he’ll smile brightly and tell everyone he comes across.

Maybe parties aren’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://b0yfriendsinl0ve.tumblr.com/)


End file.
